Chapter XXIV: When Richmond Was Besieged

In the meantime, Louis was fighting as he had never fought before. The Goreville Volunteers were posted, after the first attack, at a point an eighth of a mile south of the battery the Montgomery Grays had so gallantly defended. They were backed up by a fringe of brush and trees, and to their left were planted two Union guns, to cover a hollow some distance to the front. Beyond, the hills and thickets were filled with boys in gray, who poured in a perfect hailstorm of bullets upon the Union forces and sent shell after shell shrieking over their heads. The din was something frightful, while the smoke became so thick that when held down to the ground by the heavy atmosphere it nearly choked everybody.

“I’m sick! I’m sick! I can’t stand this any more!” blurted out Jerry Rowe, as a shell went whining and shrieking directly over his head, and throwing away his musket, he made a wild rush for the rear. But the stragglers’ guard saw him coming, and one of them tripped him up.

“Go forward, you coward!” were the words which rang into Jerry’s unwilling ears.

“I’m sick! I’ve got a stomach-ache--I can’t stand up, really I can’t!” he whined.

“You’re shamming, young fellow. Go forward, or we’ll bayonet you!” and the steel was thrust under Jerry’s very nose. With a howl of terror Jerry turned back and went searching for his musket. After that he remained where he had been, but only because the peril at the rear seemed, to him, to be as great as that to the front.

“Cherry vos got der shakes,” observed Hans Roddmann to Louis. “Vy dot feller vonted to enlist vos a riddle to me, py chimminy! Of he--Forvards, und may ve chase does repels into der Chames Rifer!” and forward they went, at Captain Paulding’s command. The hollow had been crossed under a fierce fire, and they were ascending the hill beyond, when the Confederates appeared not only in front, but also to the right and left.

“Forward, boys, we must cut our way out!” came the cry, as the Confederates rushed into the hollow and the Goreville Volunteers appeared almost surrounded. The men had fired twice. There was no time to load again, and on they went, guns to their breasts and the line of polished bayonets sending a brief chill to the hearts of those before them. But the Confederates stood firm and fired when that line of bayonets was scarcely fifty feet away. As the volley rang out, Louis felt a quiver in his arms. His gun had been struck and the barrel rendered useless. Callings, who stood beside him, was hit and went down on the battlefield with a groan which rang in the youth’s ears for many hours after.

In another second the two forces came together. But now the Confederates retreated, hoping to cut off the Volunteers from the main body of the Union army. In this they were partly successful, for the one regiment which had gone forward was not properly reinforced. The fighting went on in much disorder, and a portion of the Goreville Volunteers found themselves isolated from the rest of the command.

“We’re in for it!” cried Harry Bingham, who remained close to Louis. “Look, the rebs are on every side of us!”

“Surrender!” came the cry of a Confederate commander. “Down you go, Yank!” Louis heard poured into his ear, and then he was sent to earth. By the time he could arise he was a prisoner, and was being hurried to the rear of the Confederate lines.

“Hurrah! we’re bagging the Northern mud-sills!” came the victorious yell, as Louis and a score of others, all strangers to him but Nathan Hornsby, were being pushed along. “We’ll have ’em all by night!”

“Say, Yank, don’t McClellan wish he had stayed at home? He’ll get more than his fill before we are done with him!”

To none of these taunts did Louis reply, and, indeed, it was not safe to do so, for some hot-head would have gloried in shooting down the prisoner where he stood.

As Louis went on he noted with a sinking heart how thickly the Confederate troops were massed, tens of thousands of them standing upon every hand.

“Hornsby, what do you think of this?” he whispered.

“I think we are done for, unless Sumner arrives to help Couch out,” was the low reply. “But that ain’t our affair just now. Louis, it looks like we was in a bad fix.”

“I think so myself. Perhaps we’ll see the inside of Libby Prison before the end comes.”

“Heaven keep us out of that foul hole,” murmured Hornsby, and then the order came for silence, and no more was said.

The prisoners had been passed along, from one guard to the next, until a strong fortification just upon the northeastern outskirts of Richmond was gained. Here they were searched and everything of value was taken from them. They were then tied up in pairs, Louis and Hornsby together, and made to squat down upon the ground, and here they remained for the balance of that day and all night, under sentinels who were cautioned to shoot them down at the least sign of an outbreak.

During this time the Union soldiers were driven steadily back until the reinforcements mentioned by Hornsby arrived, when General Sumner put an end to the Confederate advance, and all rested upon their arms until morning. For this portion of the contest the Confederates claimed a victory.

Early in the morning the battle was renewed with increased vigor, the Union general, Sickles, leading the attack at one point and General Meagher at another. The charge was bravely met by the Confederates, but at last they could hold their ground no longer, and the simultaneous attack of the whole Federal line gained the day. The remainder of the day was spent in gathering up and burying the dead, and caring for the wounded, and then began the siege of Richmond by the Union army entrenching itself upon every side. During this contest the Confederate commander-in-chief, General Johnston, was first hit by a bullet and then knocked from his horse by a piece of shell. The command in the field was thereupon assumed by General Smith, who gave place, two days later, to General Robert E. Lee, the greatest of all Southern commanders, who remained at the head of the Confederate forces until the close of the war.

On Monday, Louis was marched into Richmond in company with a large number of other prisoners. It was learned that Libby Prison, which had formerly been a large warehouse, was full to overflowing, and the prisoners were divided, Louis, Hornsby, and thirty others being sent to what before the outbreak of the war had been a pork-packing establishment.

The march to this prison was one Louis never forgot. The streets of the Confederate capital were lined with a motley collection of people, who had come to cheer their own soldiers and sneer at the captives. Some on the sidewalks were very vindictive and had to be restrained from doing the Union men bodily harm.

“They killed my son!” shrieked one woman, as she ran directly in front of Louis. “I will be avenged!” and she drew a long knife. Louis caught her upraised arm, gently but firmly, and held her until a Confederate soldier disarmed her and pushed her away. The boy’s heart was in his throat; nevertheless, he felt sorry for the dame, for he saw that the loss of her boy had almost deprived her of her reason. After that both he and Hornsby, sticking close together, kept a sharp lookout for an attack.

The temporary prison having been gained, the captured ones were again examined, to see that none of them had obtained any weapons on the march, and then thrust into the gloomy-looking building, which still smelt of pig’s meat and salt brine. Louis and Hornsby were placed, with ten others, in an apartment on the second floor, a gloomy place, fifteen by eighteen feet in size, and lit by three small windows. The windows had once held sashes of glass, but these were broken away, and each opening was barred by several pieces of thick joist, spiked fast, top and bottom.

“We’re in a pickle, ain’t we?” sniffed Hornsby, as he took a survey of the situation. “Gosh! wot an all-fired bad smell!”

“Wonder how long we’ll have to remain here?” put in another of the prisoners. “Sergeant, what do you think about it?” and he turned to the Confederate officer who was posting two guards at the doorway.

“I reckon you’ll stay here until McClellan surrenders,” was the answer, with a grin, and then the prisoner muttered something far from fit for our pages.

It was nearly dark and that night the prisoners were left without supper after a march of six miles, to make themselves as comfortable as they could. There was nothing to lie upon but the hard and greasy floor, with one’s cap for a pillow, and no blankets but such as a few had brought along. The smell made Louis sick at his stomach and he hung at one of the windows for fresh air until one of the guards ordered him away.

In the morning a negro appeared with a basket, a kettle, and a number of tin cups. The basket contained stale bread cut into chunks, and the kettle black coffee. For breakfast every prisoner was given a cup of coffee and two chunks of bread. Later on the whole rations for one day were served at once, half a pound of bread and a bowl of soup with meat, or beans and bacon--all of the plainest and, at times, not overly wholesome. On such a diet a “square meal” was entirely out of the question.

From one of the windows the prisoners could see a side street of the city; the other openings looked down upon a yard littered with casks and barrels and surrounded by business structures of wood and stone. The street always presented a lively appearance, not on account of the business transacted, for that was very little, but because the soldiers were moving to and fro constantly and the crowds of curious ones followed them.

“If only we could get free,” whispered Louis to Hornsby. He had no desire to remain a prisoner, in such a place and on such rations, and while he felt sure the Union army needed the services of every man who was enrolled.

“Hush!” murmured Hornsby. “I was thinking the same thing, lad; but don’t let the guard dream of what’s in your mind, or he’ll shoot you down like a dog.”

“Will you go with me if any chance to run for it happens?”

“Yes--if it ain’t too risky.”

No more could be said that day. But late in the afternoon Louis, while walking around the lower end of the room, saw something projecting from a shelf three feet above his head. He drew Hornsby to one side, and when the guard was not looking, got the man to hoist him up.

The object proved to be a chisel, two inches broad, eighteen inches long, and very thick and heavy. Louis secreted it in his clothes. One other prisoner, a man named Ray, saw the movements, but merely grinned.

After this Louis examined one after another of the fastenings across the windows. Most of the bits of joist were too well spiked on for him to think of loosening them without considerable noise. But there was one which was shaky, and by inserting the chisel under it the lower end became detached from the window sill.

“Hi, there, what are you doin’ by that thar window?” called out the guard.

“Trying to get some fresh air,” answered Louis, as coolly as he could. “This place is worse than a pig pen.”

“It’s better nor you Yanks deserve,” growled the Confederate, and went on smoking his briar-root pipe filled with tar-heel tobacco.

“The joist is loose,” whispered Louis to Hornsby a few minutes later. “I am going to risk a drop to the ground if I can get half a chance.”

Hornsby shook his head. “They’ll shoot you, lad, if they see you. And if you do git away, where are ye going, tell me that? There are thousands of troops between us and our boys.”

“Spies manage to come and go on both sides, Hornsby. If a spy can take care of himself, I guess I can--at least, I am going to try.”

“And git ketched like thet air Caleb Fox.”

“Well, he got away again,” went on Louis, but Hornsby would not listen. He would rather put up with ill-treatment than run too much risk, much as he desired his liberty.

Louis lay down in a corner close to the window, but not to sleep. His mind was in a tumult. Should he try what was in his heart? He knew he could wrench the joist aside and drop from the window into the yard below with comparative ease. But after that? Ah, that was the all-important question. He might drop right into the hands of a guard below, and that would mean close confinement and possibly death. Or the guards might see him only to fire upon and kill him.

Hour after hour went by and Louis heard a distant clock strike eleven, twelve, and then one. It was pitch dark outside, for another storm was brewing. The dim lantern in the hallway, where the guard stood, far from lit up the room. The guard, half asleep, leaned heavily against a wooden partition, while his companion, a few feet farther down the hallway, rested on an empty box.

As slyly and quietly as a cat, Louis moved forward until he rested directly under the window he had worked upon. The end of the joist was within reach, and softly but firmly he pushed it aside, so slowly that it scarcely seemed to move.

“Are ye really going?” It was the voice of Hornsby, in the youth’s ear. He had been watching the window in silence for three hours.

“Yes,” was the soft answer. “I’ll try it, no matter what comes.”

“Then I’ll go with you, lad, and God be with us in the undertaking,” concluded Hornsby. “Good-bye, if we’re both killed,” and he gave Louis’s hand a tight squeeze.

An instant later Louis was up on the window sill. Turning about like a flash, he lowered himself to the full length of his arms. A second he hung there, then he let himself drop.